


Ink

by FountainPen



Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: Day At The Beach, Episode: s04e09 Shawn Takes a Shot In the Dark, Episode: s04e13 Death is In the Air, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Oneshot, and also hella into tattoos but there's no explicit content because i would die, both episodes are mentioned, burton guster - Freeform, buzz mcnab - Freeform, i'm so tired it's 3 am, juliet totally knows and totally helps set them up because she's awesome and i love her, kind of, lassie is dense, shawn has tattoos, shawn spencer is kind of a little shit, so iguess this takes place in late season 4 and early season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25065154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FountainPen/pseuds/FountainPen
Summary: Au in which Shawn has tattoos, and Lassie is reluctantly enamored with them.
Relationships: Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer
Comments: 19
Kudos: 183





	Ink

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I don't usually write getting together fics because I'm awkward, and getting together is awkward, but I gave it the old college try. feedback and comments are ALWAYS appreciated, and I thank you in advance for reading!

The first time Carlton had seen them he was more than distracted, being scrubbed down by someone in a hazmat suit in a parking lot would do that. But still, he’d seen the barest glimpse of color peeking over Spencer’s shoulder. Carlton told himself that it was nothing and that he didn’t need to worry about it in the first place, because Spencer, at his best, was an inconvenience, and whether or not he had a tattoo (Or tattoos, but that was beside the point) was completely and absolutely _none_ of Carlton Lassiter’s business

That fact did not stop him from quietly thinking about it at random throughout the following weeks. It was nothing but a genuine curiosity over what exactly someone like Shawn Spencer would have tattooed on his back. It had nothing to do with any possible _endearment_ to the psychic- the false psychic, damnit.

So when Carlton paused at the watercooler while walking to his desk to hear Spencer’s conversation with Guster, it was completely innocuous. Just some basic, run of the mill curiosity about someone whom he’d tentatively call a coworker on occasion.

“Dude I’m sure it’s healed up enough by now, I don’t even need to have a bandage on it anymore,” Spencer said. “It’s like an extra asshole on my shoulder man I gotta put _something_ over it.”

“First of all, gross, Shawn. And you have to _wait_ before you get a scar covered up,” Guster replied. “I found a website that says to wait about eighteen months if you even want the ink to stick.”

“But that’s so far away!” Shawn groaned. Guster ignored him, continuing to spout off facts.

“Plus the fact that scar tissue is more sensitive than regular skin, so it’s going to hurt a lot more than you’d think.”

“It probably won’t hurt more than being shot, Gus.” Spencer snorted. Carlton then realized his cup was overflowing and decided then was probably a good time to head to his desk and get to work.

He vehemently denied the thought that figuring out that Spencer did indeed have tattoos was somehow a small victory. He also forced himself to shake off the still present curiosity of what those tattoos looked like because that involved imagining self-proclaimed psychic’s bare-back, an image that made Carlton’s tie feel a bit too tight. He didn’t know what to do with that. So, Carlton told himself that they were most likely juvenile, done as soon as Spencer was legally allowed to (though Carlton wouldn’t be at all surprised if Spencer had had them done before then). Impulsive, rash decisions that would remain on his skin forever. At least one pineapple. That was all. 

Carlton still had work to do, and if he was lucky he’d get through at least some of it before Spencer invited himself to wreak havoc on an investigation.

* * *

It had been six weeks since the Thornburg case, and Carlton had managed to forget all about the fact that he lived in a world where Shawn Spencer had tattoos.

Up until the damned department beach outing. Carlton had almost forgotten about it, and he much preferred the department softball games, but he showed up on time as usual and set about setting up his umbrella in the sand. All in all, in the thirty minutes that Carlton had been there, things had gone rather smoothly. Small talk was a bore, but it hadn’t been unbearable, and Carlton had remembered his sunscreen so he wasn’t burning up in the sun. He wasn’t planning on swimming at all, so he would be getting minimal amounts of sand in his car, so all in all, Carlton decided it was a successful afternoon.

And then, while he was drinking lemonade and talking to O’Hara, the ever-present thorn in the Head Detective’s side made his appearance.

“Buzz my good fellow! Come race me!” Spencer shouted as he unceremoniously dumped his beach bag onto the sand. McNab replied with an affirmative and headed toward the water as Spencer threw his shirt down next to his bag.

Carlton, for his part, managed _not_ to outright choke on his lemonade, but couldn’t help but stare at the curling patterns and colors decorating Spencer’s back. It was unlike him to describe anything but his Glock 17 as beautiful, but _sweet lady Justice._

From where Carlton was sitting he could see what looked to be vines weaving their way up the curve of Spencer’s back and curling around shapes on his shoulder blades that were too far to make out. Carlton was ninety percent sure that it was a pineapple that was resting in the small of the (so-called) Psychic’s back. There was something on Spencer’s ribcage- a quote, maybe? Carlton couldn’t make it out.

“Carlton?” O’Hara asked. And Carlton jumped turning away from where Spencer was now being utterly beaten by McNab. “Are you alright? Your face is super red.”

“I’m fine O’Hara. I just- I burn easy, okay?” Carlton grumbled, now very invested in the state of the ice in his lemonade. Unbeknownst to him, O’Hara followed where Carlton’s gaze had been.

“Mhm,” She replied. Carlton stole a glance back at the water. Spencer was now coughing and congratulating Mcnab on his victory, water sliding off his shoulders and down his back and Carlton decided then was a good time for a refill on that lemonade. He offered the same to Juliet, who handed him her cup with a smile, and he walked over to where the drinks were stationed for the day. When he returned, now less of an absolute wreck, O’Hara was grinning at him in a way that made him immediately suspicious.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing,” She replied airily. “I was just wondering if you could do me a favor.”

“I never agree to anything unless I know the terms,” Carlton said. It was an automatic response, to be honest. O’Hara was his partner and his friend, so he’d more than likely help her out. 

“Nothing big, I just agreed to give Shawn a ride home, but something came up and I’m going to have to head out a little early, could you do it?” Oh god _damnit_. 

“I-”

“I’ll buy your coffee for a week,” O’Hara promised.

“...Fine,” Carlton finally acquiesced, “what exactly are you leaving early for anyway?”

“Oh, a friend of mine, back from the Scary Sherry case needs me to come over and talk her through a breakup,” Juliet said.

“Right,” Carlton said. Pretending to understand what O’Hara meant would be a lot simpler than the barrage of he-said-she-said O’Hara was prone to when talking about the friends she made on that particular case.

“You’re the best, Carlton,” Juliet told him. He supposed it was the least he could do. 

“Lassie! Jules!” Spencer shouted, still in the water. A few other officers had joined McNab and him, and he was beckoning for the Head Detective and his junior. “C’mon in the water’s fine!”

Carlton spent the remainder of the afternoon in quiet turmoil over what he’d agreed to.

* * *

It was the late afternoon when things finally wound down. O’Hara had left about an hour before, and Carlton was itching to escape the social part of the social gathering, even if it meant being trapped in a car with Spencer. 

So, as the sun dipped lower and the refreshments were packed up, Spencer bounded over to where Carlton was standing, ready to leave. It was with thankfully less fanfare than usual that the two made their way to Carlton’s car, only stopping when Carlton made Shawn rinse as much sand as was humanly possible off before he would be allowed to even look at his car.

Somehow they managed to be the last car in the lot, Spencer was chattering away inanely as they packed up the beach supplies. Carlton then had a thought.

“Why isn’t Guster here?”

“Oh, he’s visiting his sister for a couple of days,” Spencer replied. “You know if you wanted to see my kickass tattoos, you could’ve just asked, Lassie.”

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Carlton tried his hardest to sound affronted, but he was honestly more in shock that Spencer had _noticed_ the ridiculous staring.

“You do remember that I’m psychic right?” Spencer asked.

“You know I don’t buy that and never have, right?” Carlton retorted. Spencer grinned at him.

“I’m being serious man, do you wanna see them or not?” Carlton said nothing, so Spencer took it upon himself to undo the buttons on his shirt and shrug it off of his shoulders. Carlton’s breath caught in his throat as Spencer turned. Thorny vines curled around his back and shoulders, the main stalk ending at a rose on the base of his neck. A road disappeared between his shoulder blades, cut off by what looked to be a crystal ball. Beneath that the vine curled lower around the damned pineapple and a small slew of flowers. On Shawn’s left shoulder was the mostly healed scar from his bullet wound, just barely missing the vines there. On the right were a small goose, A fish, and a blueberry.

Carlton brushed his hand over the rose, and to his surprise, Spencer didn’t protest.

“I-”

“I was so pissed that that asshole almost screwed up my vine, that thing took forever to get done,” Shawn interrupted, and Carlton was very glad he was facing away from him. “I wanna get the front scar covered up.”

  
  
“Is there- is there a reason for this?” Carlton choked out. The sheer _intimacy_ of this was killing him. Spencer turned and pulled his button back around his shoulders.

“You wanted to see them, duh,” Spencer replied.

“Oh,” Carlton tried very hard not to sound disappointed for reasons he didn’t understand. 

“You didn’t let me finish, you jerk,” Spencer said.

“You’ve interrupted me six times in the past two days,” Carlton said, inciting a bout of laughter from Spencer.

“See, that’s funny because I know you’re right,” Spencer said. “I also really wanted you to see them.”

“You wanted me to see them.”  
  


“I didn’t randomly bring it up at the station for nothing, Lassie,” Spencer said.

“That was intentional?” Carlton asked eyes narrowed.   
  


“Yeah, and I’m a little disappointed I didn’t get you to ask to see them yourself because I would have _loved_ to make fun of you for asking to see me shirtless,” Spencer replied and Carlton didn’t know if he was angry or confused or something else entirely.

“What exactly do you want from me, Spencer?” Carlton asked. “You know I don’t play games and I’d appreciate it if you’d not treat me like mmfh-”

Spencer had taken a step closer and shoved his hand over Carlton’s mouth, and it was most definitely anger bubbling up in Carlton’s chest at this point.

“You are greatly misninterpretishing my intentions here, Lassie,” Spencer said. Beneath Spencer’s hand, Carlton growled out a muffled ‘misinterpreting’. Shawn lowered his hand and Carlton, despite himself, softened his glare. “Heard it both ways.”

“And what,” Carlton stepped forward. “Are your intentions?”

“The kind where you ask to see me shirtless. Duh.” Spencer replied, sounding far too confident for someone who was pinned between the Head Detective of the Santa Barbara Police Department and a car. “And you? Was it just the hella ink you were interested in?”

“I hate you,” Carlton said. And he didn’t.

“Do you really, though?” Spencer asked with that shit-eating grin that normally made Carlton want to punt him, and Carlton wondered for a split second if he really _was_ psychic.

The silence that followed didn’t feel as unnatural as it should have. It was less of a question left hanging in the air by Carlton’s lack of a response, and more of Shawn daring him to answer. 

So Carlton, never one to back down when it came to Shawn Spencer, pulled Spencer towards him by the flaps of his still-unbuttoned shirt. Shawn closed the gap eagerly despite having to go up on his toes to reach. After a moment, Spencer stumbled backward against the car and they broke apart.

“No, Spencer, I don’t,” Carlton said.

“You know, I think we _might_ be passed last names,” Shawn replied and Carlton was quietly to smug to hear how breathless he was.

“Sounds reasonable,” Carlton said, and any bystanders would have reported that the gangly man who was _very_ overdressed for a day at the beach was looking at the man they’d all seen trying to fight a seagull earlier with overwhelming fondness, but Carlton would deny this to his grave.

“You know, I’m also thinking about getting a sleeve,” Shawn told him. “Thoughts?”

Carlton kissed him breathless again.

* * *

It was a year or two later that Carlton rolled over in bed to face Shawn, who was still sleeping. Carlton pulled him closer and pressed a kiss to the rose on the front of Shawn’s left shoulder that covered an almost forgotten scar, and Carlton went back to sleep.

Things were not perfect, because Shawn was still Shawn and Carlton was still Carlton. They bickered with no real malice and Shawn had come clean about his not-so-psychic abilities and Carlton had to decide what he valued more. The Law, or Shawn’s ability to help bring justice to those who needed it. In the end, Carlton settled for a barrage of ‘I knew it’s from himself and a promise from Shawn that he would do his best to work inside the law. 

  
Carlton fell to the trappings of human emotions like _worry_ and _concern_ and spent a considerable amount of time ensuring Shawn’s safety, despite his protests. Shawn settled for acceptance that _both_ of their jobs entailed a good deal of danger, and promise from Carlton that if he were to remain on the safe side of risking his life, then so would Shawn. 

And of course, pineapples became a new food group in Carlton’s household, and Shawn would later add a replica image of Carlton’s Glock 17 to the small group of what he considered his favorite tattoos.

Things were not perfect, but they were damn well near it.

**Author's Note:**

> Shawn's tattoos and what they're for  
> The goose- Shawn's mom (calls him Goose all the time)  
> The fish- Shawn's dad  
> The blueberry- Gus  
> The road- Memorial to all the time Shawn spent traveling  
> the thorn vines/the first rose- Shawn is fully aware of his constant need to deflect and that's a hill I will die on.  
> The crystal ball-go psychic boy go  
> the pineapple- You Already Know  
> the patch of flowers- Shawn thought it was neat  
> The quote on Shawn's ribs- "A gentleman of leisure never packs his weapon next to his socks. It's uncouth." -Pierre Despereaux [s04e01 Extradition: British Columbia]  
> The glock- It's for his gun-toting boyfriend  
> the second rose- floral shapes work best to cover up round scars and I think roses are kickass flowers
> 
> And finally, I would appreciate it if you would take the time to visit https://www.standwithbre.com/ and see what you can do to help because as of 7/4/2020 Breonna Taylor's killers have still not been brought to justice. Every signature, every phone call, and every voice makes a difference, and every time we say her name we are contributing to a change that needs to happen.


End file.
